Guy & Marian Acrostic Series
by lexie2
Summary: A series of sequenced one-shots spanning over Series 1 & 2 & an AU beyond. The fics explore Guy's relationship with Marian and are told from his POV.
1. S is for Scars

**TITLE:** "S is for Scars" (1st in the Guy/Marian Acrostic Series)

**FANDOM:** BBC Robin Hood 2006

**PAIRING:** Guy/ Marian

**AUTHOR: **lexie aka lillianschild

**RATING:** PG

**A/N:** I'd been toying with the idea of writing a multi-chaptered Guy/Marian original fic for sometime but my hectic teaching/tutoring schedule conspired against me. However, my wish to put pen to paper and come up with something altogether new after almost eight months of drought finally won.

Since penning short one-shots in the past helped me keep the creative juices flowing, I've decided to start posting a series of brief acrostic fics revolving around words beginning with the letters used to spell Guy and Marian's full names- Sir Guy (Crispin) of Gisborne and Lady Marian Fitzwalter.

My original plan's to follow a timeline to make the series cohesive, starting with a one-shot set a little before Robin's arrival from the Holy Land.

**S is for Scars**

_My soul weaving holds_

_My blessings and my doom_

_Both my light and dark,_

_My love-song and screaming pleas,_

_Begging for an end._

_Each scar shows as_

_A delicate loving curse_

_Or a grey shadow_

_On the stark black and white._

Scars. Indelible marks which bear witness to a painful and shameful past I can't escape from.

Memories that haunt my battered soul. Recollections made real on my sensitive skin, which I wrap in a thick and stifling armour of leather as black as the sins that taint the blood that runs through my veins. An armour which smothers the cry of a teenage boy who was once cruelly uprooted and unjustly scorned, exiled to a life of strife and destitution on a foreign land that looked down on his mother's children and turned its back on them.

Scars. Visible trophies of battles waged by wielding a sword. Invisible injuries inflicted by a bladeless weapon, more lethal and piercing than any ever forged by a skilful armourer. Deep slashes nobody but me can see when the sun comes down and I try to silence the voices in my head with pints of mead or a willing wench.

Permanent reminders of an identity I've been denied, a name that's been soiled and a heritage I was stripped off and yearn to reclaim for my own- an heirloom seized and bestowed on a child whose recklessness deprived me and my sister of a home, a family and a proud name.

These scars that neither time nor man has allowed to scab are the fuel which burns in me and propels me forward, the double-edged weapon that the unprincipled and despicable man I call my master relishes to use against me. The drive which, if God's merciful and my will prevails, will secure my birthright to be handed down to the grandchildren my mother dreamt of when she was alive, when I was cherished and loved.

I slip on my black leather gloves, make sure no patch of pale white skin's left visible before stepping out of the manor which bears the name of the boy who lit the fuse that turn my world and Isabella's to ashes.

I clench both my hands in a fist and feel the constricting material tighten, enwrapping and protecting the treasured memory of the touch of a soft innocent hand much smaller than mine. Beneath the artificial barrier I never fail to wear when the heartless henchman Vasey's helped create is sent to terrorise the villagers into submission, there survives the imprint of a loved hand seeking comfort and strength to survive the crumbling of a world that once cradled and protected her in its loving bosom.

Isabella. My little sister; the wilful and long-limbed elf who followed me around like a loving puppy and idolised me like the knight in shining armour of her favourite fairy tales. My first sacrifice on the road to power. My first self-inflicted scar, one that keeps bleeding and one I wish I could undo if only to live in somebody's heart, an echo of the chivalrous squire, son and brother I once was.

I grab the reins of my proud destrier and mount him with ease. I pat his withers with a gloved hand and smile smugly. Gone are the days when he used to fidget and rebel against his new owner. We're one now; black on black, an indissoluble unity of man and beast. Sitting on this saddle I'm the one in control; he knows who's master and doesn't judge.

Scars crisscross the fragile weaving that is my life, a frayed tapestry jealously guarded against the violent whipping of the fickle and treacherous winds, those which tease me with promises only to snatch them away when the shackles I've willingly put on start to come loose.

Like a prisoner in need of water to quench his thirst, I come to her doorstep. She's my manna in the desert, the light which shows me the way when I get lost in the convoluted labyrinth of my soul, the balm that soothes the scars only she can touch.

"Marian."

"Sir Guy."

Three years. Four winters. That's how long it's taken me to lose my heart.

I wonder if she knows how easy it'd be to either make the final thrust or start to heal my scars with just one word, one gesture to show me I'm still worthy in someone's eyes.

Marian. The name rolls out of my mouth like a prayer.

She smiles and for a brief moment I feel again a childish hand holding mine with guileless trust and pure love.

She smiles and for a few stolen moments I can pretend this hellish nightmare's never happened and I'm back home at last.

**A/N:** The extract of poetry at the beginning belongs to "Scars of the Soul" by DeathByDegrees.

Coming next: "I is for Innocence"


	2. I is for Innocence

**TITLE:** "I is for Innocence" (2nd in the Guy/Marian Acrostic Series)

**FANDOM:** BBC Robin Hood 2006

**PAIRING:** Guy/ Marian

**AUTHOR: **lexie aka lillianschild

**RATING:** PG

**A/N: **This is the second one-shot in the series and is set around the time of the opening scene of "Tattoo? What tattoo?"

I highly recommend reading the previous ficlet in the series: "S is for Scars".

**I is for Innocence**

_No longer is the soul pure_

_Desperately seeking_

_Fervently searching for soul_

_Seeking warm sanctuary_

_Longing for answers_

_Shell of what was once living_

_Utter emptiness_

_Hiding from the sight of God_

_Yearning for a safe haven_

_Child of the shadows_

_Seeking ways out of darkness_

_Starving for the light_

Innocence. A blessing easily tarnished by the cruel whims of fate and the imperfect nature of Man. A path I lost sight of twenty years ago and one I find myself wishing I could tread again whenever she breezes in or comes to me with a smile and a request my enslaved heart refuses to turn down.

For a short-lived and fragile moment I pretend the man who's standing at her door isn't the one whose cracked and blurry visage I see reflected in the water every morning. For a brief spell I can breathe, fill the cells of my fast decaying flesh with clean and pure oxygen, and cleanse my agonising soul of the acrid sulphuric fumes which surround me in the dungeons of a jailor whose claws grip me tight.

Innocence which sees beauty even in a soul tainted black such as mine and makes me believe in dreams I know myself to be unworthy of but that I still yearn to have and hold fast. I look up into the deep blue skies of the far away land which robbed me of a father and remember getting drown in her eyes. I tighten my grasp on the sword, tempted by the belief I see reflected in those pupils, and falter until the white tent comes into view and my eyes start burning again.

The redeeming path which has been beckoning to me like a mermaid in the middle of a raging storm gets suddenly swallowed by a big tidal wave, and I feel myself being inexorably pulled down. With each step taken against the blowing sand, which lashes against my temporarily deceptive Saracen black wrappings, I get closer to the blood-tainted land coveted by Christians, Muslims and Jews alike. With each step I get closer to the realisation of my long-standing plans to regain my birthright and further away from the land of hope and new life which cradled the innocent child whose birth, on a day just like today- twelve centuries ago- brought light to this world.

Innocence. The promise of salvation. A warm sanctuary for those seeking a way out of darkness. I part the tent fly while my co-conspirators silence the sentries protecting the man whose father mine served with honour. In the arms of Morpheus lies King Richard, the son of the monarch who turned a blind eye when his loyal knight died stripped of his lands, his title and his dignity. The blood of a king who died flanked by two sinners just like me would cleanse my tormented soul and give it rest, but the blood of _this_ king would quench in part my thirst for revenge and put an end to the shame of living a life with a title that's just an empty shell, filling borrowed shoes on lands which still bear the name of the man whose adulterous love made orphans of Isabella and me.

I'm only a step away from plunging my sword into the palpitating heart of the lion which is sucking his kingdom and his people dry to fight an endless and bloody war on a distant and foreign land. And her visage suddenly visits me, a vision of purity calling to me, making my murderous hand tremble. I hesitate for a second time today and it's all it takes for the knight I stabbed on my way in to lunge at me and slash my upper arm with his sword.

Our eyes lock and I suddenly recognise in them the boy whose reckless showing-off almost ended my life on the noose. I fight my urge to laugh at the irony of fate and feel my blood boil at the thought of his premature return to England thanks to my blunder. The temptation to remove this roadblock on my way to property and marriage is really strong, but the thought of her ever finding it out stops me.

And I come back to her bearing a new scar, the physical reminder of a treason whose unveiling would kill in her that which was once mine too. This palpitating gash made by the same hand who robbed me of my heritage is hanging over me like the sword of Damocles; a blemish to be hidden from both the unscrupulous man I've tied myself to and the only woman whose life I wish to bind with my own for all time.

I come back to her like a pilgrim on his way to Jerusalem, starving for the light.

**A/N:** The extract of poetry at the beginning belongs to "Metamorphosis" by ChandaPanda and Tim Drew .

Coming next: "R is for Return"


	3. R is for Return

**TITLE:** "R is for Return" (3rd in the Guy/Marian Acrostic Series)

**FANDOM:** BBC Robin Hood 2006

**PAIRING:** Guy/ Marian

**AUTHOR: **lexie aka lillianschild

**RATING:** PG

**SUMMARY:** I will search the world, I will face its harms till I find my hero's welcome waiting in your arms.

**A/N: **This is the third one-shot in the series and is set around the time of the show's first première,"Will You Tolerate This?"

I highly recommend reading the previous ficlets in the series: "S is for Scars" & "I is for Innocence"

**R is for Return**

_I have often dreamed of a far off place  
Where a hero's welcome would be waiting for me  
Where the crowds will cheer when they see my face.  
_

_I will search the world, I will face its harms  
Till I find my hero's welcome waiting in your arms._

It's been a month since my return, thirty days of agonising wait wondering if today'll be the day when my dream's snatched away; four long months to distance myself from both the obscure deed which has added a new blemish to my already tainted soul and the young man who seems to have become the bane of my existence.

I trace the new scar that adorns my upper arm, the slash which seems to mock the symbol of the promise of a reward for my perseverance- the wolf head I had tattooed when I set foot in England for the first time after my exile in Normandy. Three years, four winters; that's how long this indelible stain has accompanied me.

Once again I don the trademark black uniform of Vasey's merciless henchman. I smother in wrappings the reminder of the mission that was charted the day my world and Isabella's turned to ash, the physical embodiment of the howling wolf living inside of me that yearns to be washed by the light of the moon and find a pack of its own where it could truly belong.

I walk the dark and cold corridors of my master's domain and finish putting on my right leather glove to cover the hand she allowed to brush her cheek the day of my return when, hungry for the balm of her presence, I rode to her door; a pilgrim in search of a blessing long denied.

I climb down the stone steps of Nottingham Castle and join the mounted men in the Gisborne livery awaiting me in the bailey. I grab the reins of my proud destrier and get in the saddle with as impassive a face as I can muster. Ten sacks of flour have gone missing from the store and the Sheriff's itching to have someone hang and I, his _incompetent _Master-at-Arms, has been commissioned with the task of identifying the culprit and tightening the noose.

As we gallop through Sherwood Forest and I see the grounds of Locksley at a distance, her voice suddenly intrudes into my thoughts. I unconsciously pull up the reins and bring my horse to a canter; the memory of her impassioned plea for the plight of the poorest ringing in my ears and taunting me with the promise of a hero's welcome if I turned a blind eye to this trespass.

"Sir Guy?"

The prospect of a sweet reward is alluring and yet, the possibility of putting a new nail in the coffin that is my fragile and fickle alliance with Vasey so soon after my blunder in the Holy Land stays me.

"Sir?"

There are days when I drive forward as if I were anaesthetised, impervious to the world around me. On those days it's only the prize I've been working so hard for that matters. But this isn't one of those days, and I find myself loathing my jailor and these shackles which deny me the hope she instils in me.

Stormbringer fidgets under me sensing my internal struggle. Ten sacks of flour would put bread on the table of the peasants in Locksley for a few weeks. I know what it's like to go days without a morsel when you're a child; I can still feel the gnawing hunger of two lonely kids reduced to stealing to survive another day.

One word. One counter-command and I could be the hero of the day- at least, in the only eyes that count for me. But then I remember these are the same villagers who had no qualms about condemning two orphans to a life of pain, shame and destitution, and I bark a command to the officer who's been eying me with a puzzled frown.

The censure in Marian's voice gets drowned by the stampede of hoofs as we charge into Locksley and all exits are secured for the round-up. Sentimentality is weakness and only a village of cowering peasants and a fuller dungeon can appease the man whose capricious and devious mind can either help me regain my title and lands or squash me like a worthless ant.

"Ten sacks of flour have gone missing from the store. They will be found. You'll be accounted for !" I warn the populace gathered on the grounds as I look down on them from my mount."Who helped this... runt? Step forward now and I may show lenience. No?"

Two sacks. That's all my men manage to recover.

I squirm in the saddle, tightening my hold on the reins as my eyes alight on the small children- little more than babes- whose defencelessness brings back too many unsavoury memories.

I glance away to steel myself against the condemnation and disappointment I know I'd see reflected in her eyes if she were to witness my actions and, strengthening my impenetrable armour, I issue a new command, "The main perpetrators would be found. The crime would be punished. Bring the boy."

"Wait... Guy of Gisborne! " a voice shatters the tense silence.

I see him move through the crowd to come to the front; his strut and the quiver full of arrows on his back an omen of what's to come. The day I've been dreading is here at last. Robin of Locksley's back.

"_Sir _Guy of Gisborne to you," the commander of my guards corrects him.

"_Sir _Guy of Gisborne," repeats the young man in brown, making no effort to disguise the mock in his voice when using the title to address me. "My name is Robin. Earl of Huntington and Lord of this manor. Your services here are no longer required," he adds, clearly relishing the moment of triumph as a servant steps forward to throw a cloak round his shoulders and join the whole hamlet in a bow of reverence to their returned Master.

He looks at me with undisguised defiance in his gaze. No words are necessary between us. Twenty years have elapsed but there's no doubt in my mind the young man who might have been my brother once knows who I am and what drives me.

Humiliation at Vasey's hands I've learnt to tolerate as a means to an end but Locksley's a bitter pill to swallow and yet swallow it I will. The time for him to get his comeuppance will arrive soon enough for one thing my treacherous master's taught me is that revenge is a dish best served cold. And so I make a strategic retreat.

He's the prodigal son who's welcomed with open arms and offered a fattened calf as a reward while I'm the eternal outcast left with scraps; lost and eager to be found.

Marian. I turn my horse and go to her. The promise of her love's all the hope I need to face another frost bitten day.

**A/N:** The extract of poetry at the beginning belongs to "Go the Distance" by Alan Menken & David Zippel from "Hercules" .

The lines of dialogue were taken almost verbatim from "Will You Tolerate This?" (S01E01). No infringement intended.

Coming next: "G is for Gifts"


	4. G is for Gifts

**TITLE:** "G is for Gifts" (4th in the Guy/Marian Acrostic Series)

**FANDOM:** BBC Robin Hood 2006

**PAIRING:** Guy/ Marian

**AUTHOR: **lexie aka lillianschild

**RATING:** PG

**SUMMARY:** He will keep giving.

**A/N: **This is the fourth one-shot in the series and spans from "Will you Tolerate This?" (S01E01) to the beginning of "The Taxman Cometh" (S01E06).

I highly recommend reading the previous ficlets in the series: "S is for Scars", "I is for Innocence" and "R is for Return"

**G is for Gifts**

_Gift, bestowal, surrender?_

_Pure symbol, sign_

_That I want to give myself._

_How I'd like to be _

_What I give you_

_And not the one that gives it to you._

I've received very few gifts in my life; not one since my mother's passing. Whatever I have has been seized or granted with a "condition" attached to it. They're the rules of the game, one I've been playing for a very long while and one whose fruits I've reaped with transient joy, knowing that no matter how fast I hold onto my conquests they will in all probability slip through my fingers in the end.

Therefore, it shouldn't have come as a surprise when Huntingdon burst onto the scene once again and claimed back that which had been bestowed upon me after tainting my soul several shades of black in the service of a treacherous master I need and loathe in equal measure. No, Huntingdon's return wasn't unexpected. And yet, it's brought about a deep despair I struggle to keep in check to protect what little self-respect I've managed to cling to.

Losing my stewardship of Locksley is a setback I might have brushed off in the past. But now, when my heart is fully enslaved by the woman whose love's the only gift I yearn to be granted, that sudden forfeiture turns the chasm between what little I have and what I've dreamt to win for keeps into an abyss of black and utter desolation.

The prospect of a future without her renders my world a barren landscape of eternal loneliness, and the crying wolf which resides under these black wrappings smothers its mournful howl to hide its bleeding heart from the person who might feast like a scavenger on its carcass. From where I am I can see the moon and feel its light; unable to reach it, I see others absorb its warmth while hope gets eclipsed on my horizon.

And there he sits, the spawn of the devil with his viperous smile, deriving sick pleasure from my predicament.

"My Lord, I do not think that this is a laughing matter!"

"Sorry, remind me ! How many men do you have ?"

"Twenty-four."

"And he had..."

"One. But the point is..."

"How did you let him take the house ?"

I rein in my urge to knock another tooth out of his sharkish mouth just to keep the one secret that would reveal what he sees as incompetence for what it really is, my desperate attempt to salvage what little is left of my knightly honour, the only gift I can offer her even if it means swallowing my pride and giving up ground to my sworn enemy.

"Technically it is still his property."

My words leave a bitter aftertaste in my mouth, especially when I remember two orphans for whom nobody stood up as they were dispossessed of what was rightfully theirs. Were she not constantly present in my thoughts and my dreams, I would forsake my oath of honour and any scruple I might still have for a taste of revenge. After all, the man that's threatening my one chance at happiness is the same one who was granted the gift that King Henry had given to my father; the birthright I would have handed down to my progeny, Marian's and mine.

* * *

Until Marian the council of nobles had always been a tedious business I had to attend to witness Vasey's vagaries and open threats. Now it's the moment of the month I long for the most because I can feast my eyes on the object of my affection without hindrance, as I pretend to enjoy the spectacle put on by Nottingham's grovelling lords.

However, this time I stand in the shadows with a heavy heart, knowing the way things are she's more unattainable than ever. I have only my dreams to sustain me, and I cling to them stubbornly, praying for a blessing, a gift from God to show me there's still something in me she might see as worthy to be loved.

Each decision made, each deed I commit in the name of King and country, carrying out the orders of my self-serving master, distances me more from the comfort of knowing I'll rejoin everyone I've lost in my life when my time comes.

And yet, I still pray. And yes, sinner as I am, my pleas are answered on occasion. And the heart of my mother's son soars and yearns for the moment when Vasey's henchman can break his chains and be the man she dreamt he'd be, the man Marian could learn to love without shame.

"Discipline has never been a problem on my estates," states Huntingdon haughtily.

"Times have changed," replies Vasey, clearly resenting the interruption.

"Not for the better," the knight remarks in a steely way, and a spark of hope's suddenly ignited in me.

"You, of all people, should know that the King needs funds to fight our Holy War. What is your proposal to raise money for the King ?" my master goads him on.

"Stop all taxes! Today!" exclaims Locksley's lord, and my hope increases in leaps and bounds as I remember a bragging teenager always ready to show he knew best.

"Amusing," chuckles Nottingham's sheriff.

"I did not joke."

"What we need are hungry men! Our noble friend seems to forget that hungry men are virtuous," continues Vasey in an ironic tone, walking up and down the table as he addresses the nobles and Huntingdon in particular.

I know my master doesn't tolerate fools and anyone who dares steal his spotlight is either a knave or a lover of life on the edge. At the moment, I can't decide to which of those categories Huntingdon belongs, but he's clearly ignorant of who he's crossing swords with, and his retorts are clearly riling the viperous snake.

"There is a celebration of my return tonight in the Great Hall."

"Indeed."

"Won't I trust none of those _virtuous men _will be feasting?"

That final taunt seals the deal. I can see the sun starting to rise on my horizon again.

* * *

It's been a little over a month since Huntingdon's open defiance banished him to the forests of Sherwood and paved my way back to Locksley, a month since I started my wooing of Marian in earnest.

I can still recall how clumsy and inarticulate I felt when I rushed to Knighton, eager to see her face now that I owned the keys to what I dreamt could be my kingdom, _our _kingdom with her as my queen.

"_I would be pleased if you would come and visit me at Locksley, now that it's mine."_

"_I do not know."_

"_I have ambitions which are greater, of course, you know that. But for now to have land once more in the Gisborne name, my father would be proud."_

"_I am very glad for you."_

"_Some of my men, I know this for a fact, used to laugh at my title. Guy of Gisborne... when there was no Gisborne."_

"_And Locksley is your Gisborne?"_

I wished then I could find the perfect lines to tell her the gift of her love or even her friendship could be my Gisborne, but I've never mastered words the way I do my sword and she's always had the power to render me a bumbling besotted fool.

"_Yes, actually... I am intent on changing its name."_

"_Does changing a name really make a difference?"_

"_When a woman marries, she changes her name. It makes a difference."_

I realised then I'd chosen the wrong approach to win her heart and be in her good graces. Marian's always been very jealous of her independence and will never bend her will if she considers she's being cornered to do or think what others expect or demand of her.

I berated myself for my clumsiness, especially when it's her assertive and rebellious nature that has drawn me to her in the first place. A man more versed in the art of wooing would have approached her in much the same way one would a skittish filly.

"_And what of Robin?"_

Huntingdon. The bane of my existence.

"_What of Robin?" _I asked tensely, fighting an almost lost battle to keep my animosity in check. Although it still irks me, Marian was once my enemy's betrothed and, despite the broken engagement and the years which have elapsed, I can understand a fair maid's reluctance to forget her first love.

"_He will contest your acquisition of his lands, surely."_

"_He will die if he is found 's no need for a trial. He will hang in the morning."_

"_There must be a trial. It is the law."_

Marian. Her belief that truth and justice will always prevail never ceases to astound me. It makes me wish I could see the world through her eyes and shed this cynical self life has branded me with. I long for that gift I lost along the way but know innocence is a state which can never be recaptured.

"_Yeah, but he is an outlaw. You see, in these straitened times, the Sheriff has made special provision. Outlaws are classed as enemies of war, thus we can hold them without trial."_

"_No."_

_"And we can execute them without trial."_

"_No, it cannot be."_

"_We're at war."_

"_Yes, in the Holy Land. That does not mean we dispense with justice here."_

Justice. Where was justice when my father was left to die like a dog, away from those who loved him, ostracised like a pariah after a life serving his king and fighting by his side with courage and honour? What justice was there when two defenceless children were evicted from their home and condemned to fend for themselves, to lie and steal in order to survive on scraps just because they had been born of a Norman and shared their blood with a leper?

There's no justice in this kingdom, only in the one beyond. And I can't find my way without her; this passionate creature's the only beacon of light in the darkness which surrounds me and threatens to swallow me whole.

And I come to her bearing gifts like the Wise Men did all those centuries ago when they walked like pilgrims to Nazareth.

I knock at the doors of Heaven knowing myself unworthy, wishing offering myself could be enough.

I'll keep offering, eager to believe like she does there's still justice in this world.

* * *

**A/N:** The extract of poetry at the beginning belongs to "Beyond Being Yours" by Linda Marie Van Tassell.

The lines of dialogue were taken almost verbatim from "Will You Tolerate This?" (S01E01) and "Sheriff Got your Tongue?" (S01E02). No infringement intended.

Coming next: "U is for Unfaithful"


	5. U is for Unfaithful

**TITLE:** "U is for Unfaithful" (5th in the Guy/Marian Acrostic Series)

**FANDOM:** BBC Robin Hood 2006

**PAIRING:** Guy/ Marian

**AUTHOR: **lexie aka lillianschild

**RATING:** PG

**SUMMARY: **Facing curves of broken path. Always faithful, faithfully.

**A/N: **This is the fifth one-shot in the series and focuses on "Brothers in Arms" (S01E07) with a passing reference to "Parenthood" (S01E04).

I highly recommend reading the previous ficlets in the series, starting with "S is for Scars".

**U is for Unfaithful**

_Always faithful_

_Desperately_

_Staring down the winding seam_

_Facing curves of broken path_

_Always faithful, faithfully_

_I promise on my faith that I will in the future be faithful to the lord, never cause him harm and will observe my homage to him completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit._

The words of the oath of fealty I swore so long ago still resonate in me. Loyalty's the one thing which sustains me when my faith is at its lowest, when my Lord orders and my hand falters, when she turns down another gift and I cling stubbornly to my mother's childhood advice- _if you have wronged somebody, or if they're upset, do not be proud, offer them friendship. If they reject you, offer a second time, and a third until they accept_.

"Do you like it?" I ask her as I fasten the clasp and graze her nape with slightly tremulous fingers when all I yearn is for the right to press a soft kiss on the milky white column she covers again with her auburn tresses.

"Yes, I do but..."

"It's simple silver. You have no need of gold or gaudy jewels," I interrupt her, afraid of the words of rejection I have got accustomed to hearing on her lips.

"But really. I cannot accept it."

"Why not? Have I insulted you?" I reply, incapable of hiding how much it hurts me to be denied her acceptance time and time again. "You do not like it. It's too plain, too simple. Take it off," I add gruffly, berating myself for believing a peasant girl's treasure could win Marian's heart when all my carefully chosen gifts have always failed to move her.

"No, I like it. I will treasure it," she stops me as I make a move to unclasp the Celtic chain.

"It is a gift of friendship," I assure her, trying to put her at ease, fearful that my insistent pursuing will drive her away from me forever; eager as I am to have her look at me the way a woman looks at the man she loves, I tell myself I'd rather have her in my life as a friend than not at all.

"And I am very grateful," she says quietly, bestowing a shy smile on me.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

The voice of my Sergeant suddenly pierces the fragile cocoon which she managed to spin around us when she accepted my present and gifted me with a smile, a gesture that will sustain me through another dreary day.

"Cancel the guard for the consignment from Rotherham," I order my subordinate, remembering my Master's plan to uncover the spy in our midst.

"No guards?" frowns my Sergeant.

"No guards. Guards attract attention. Why would we want to attract attention to a chest full of silver

travelling through Sherwood Forest?" I explain to him, keeping a straight face not to betray the real purpose of such a strategy.

"Yes, sir."

"And tell no one. No one. Not even the guards themselves."

I trust my men in a way I've never been able to rely on Vasey's. And yet, I know the most faithful of men can stumble on occasion and live to regret it.

Unfaithfulness and broken vows sealed the tragic destiny of my lineage when I was but a green boy. It's a fate I once pledged to protect my descendants from, an oath which I've failed to live up to. I've moved Heaven and Earth to discover where Vasey's men have taken my illegitimate son, who should have been now sheltered at Kirklee's, but the lack of clues has stoked the feeling of guilty impotence that haunts me at night when I think I can still hear a baby cry.

Sometimes I wonder if she doesn't know, if it isn't her awareness of my trespass in a moment of desperate loneliness and defeat that has steeled her heart against my advances. Huntingdon knows of Annie and of our baby Seth; he's got the perfect weapon to undermine my dream of a future with Marian and, despite her assurances she's no longer in touch with her former fiancé, I find it difficult to believe my nemesis hasn't used the intelligence I would have no qualms to exploit were I in his shoes.

Faithfulness is the one virtue I've always struggled to maintain for holding onto it helps me believe there's still something in me that burns bright, despite some of my questionable deeds and the vicious onslaught of a world which insists on regarding me as an outcast. Loyalty's the one quality which still identifies me as the knight I thought I'd be one day, when Gisborne was more than an empty shell, and I had the love of a family.

Until she came into my world and reawakened my hope of realising my long-forgotten dream of ever finding what my parents once had, faithfulness used to be the only thing I expected of those around me.

"Marian," I greet her as I climb up the last step which takes me away from the dungeons.

"Sir Guy."

"So you did not like it after all? The necklace," I ask her disappointed to see she's no longer wearing the silver chain I presented her with a few days ago.

"No, I do. It's at home."

"You didn't think to wear it?"

"It is very precious to me. I would not want to lose it," she starts to explain when a scream from the dungeons pierces the air.

"Come away. This is not for your ears," I tell her quietly, taking her away from the inhuman sounds of torture.

"What is it?"

"Do you know the worst crime a man can commit?"

"Murder?"

"Betrayal. My sergeant swore loyalty to me and then he stabbed me in the back. He hasn't admitted it yet but he will."

"Admit what?"

"We set a trap to flush out a spy. An unguarded cart. Someone told Robin Hood."

"But what if it wasn't him?"

* * *

Escaping the stifling atmosphere of the castle I ride back to Locksley in the middle of the day.

The village is buzzing with activity and local women of all ages are milling around Lucky George's caravan, trying to strike a good deal with the conman. However, it isn't the scoundrel that catches my eye but the young bride who gave me her only heirloom in exchange for my blessing.

_'But what if it wasn't him?'_

A flash of silver. It must be a trick of the light.

_'My sergeant was the only one that knew. He was the only one I told.'_

_'Please, Sir Guy, do not do this.'_

It cannot be. It cannot be true.

_'You understand loyalty?'_

_'Y... '_

_'The importance of loyalty?'_

_'Yes, I do. But... '_

_'So... he must pay for his crime.'_

I give one of my personal guards instructions to bring the young girl to me. I have to see with my own eyes what my heart refuses to acknowledge as the truth, that the only woman I've ever loved has betrayed me.

"Lower your collar. Where did you get this?" I ask the peasant girl, clutching the Celtic chain she's still wearing around her neck.

"My mother gave it to me."

"And I took it from did you get it back?"

"Robin Hood gave it to me," she confesses after some hesitation.

I suddenly find it hard to breathe. The world around becomes a dim blur until all I can feel is my heart slowly breaking and Vasey's mocking voice in my mind. _It's always the girl. I told you. Women. Lepers, Gisborne._

"I'll give you a ha'penny for it," suggests Lucky George, stepping forward and eyeing the necklace with a speculative gleam.

"Keep it. It means nothing to me," I tell him in a broken voice, turning around to collect myself as I struggle not to throw up in front of the populace.

* * *

I arrive at Knighton Hall in time to partake of some lunch; the Fitwalters have always had one of the best cooks in the county, but today the meal tastes like sawdust in my mouth as I sit across Sir Edward and await Marian's return.

_Can you feel the hot metal of the knife twisting in your back, hm, Gizzy? All the time she was smiling at you, but really she was laughing at you, betraying you, despising you, humiliating you. And what do you want to do to her now?_

My sergeant died an innocent man. I rewarded his faithfulness by having him tortured to death; while the one person I never thought would betray me has been consorting with the man who took away my birthright and condemned me to a life of subservience and solitude.

"Where 's Marian?" asks her father, breaking the tense silence.

"Good question."

"If you've hurt her... If you've done anything to her..."

"You'll what?" I spit at the fragile man with a look of defiance.

And she comes into the house, bursting though the front door, breathless, her cheeks tainted a rosy hue, and my cracked heart breaks a little more. How can someone so beautiful and generous with those beneath her be so full of deceit and contempt for one who's done nothing to her but lay his heart at her feet?

"Sir Guy. We were not expecting you," she exclaims, visibly taken by surprise.

"I know. Sorry. I just popped in for a little chat. Where have you been?"

"At the hanging," she replies, darting a nervous look at her father. "Can we get you something to drink?"

"I don't think so. Show me your necklace."

"What necklace?" she asks in a tremulous voice.

The beautiful greenish-blue pools, in which I've always dreamt I could one day see myself reflected a newborn man, are now dilated with fear. My hunter instincts recognise a cornered prey both in her demeanour and the palpitating pulse visible in the white column of her neck, which even now makes my treacherous heart quiver with longing.

My repeated demand that she show me the silver chain she promised to treasure sends her into a fit of wounded pride, declaring our friendship to be over. But no sooner do I mention the price she will pay for betraying me than she pleads with me to let her prove herself to me. She swears the necklace's in her possession and offers to fetch it for me. She beseeches me to let her mount the stairs to show me she's never been disloyal, that she's never sold me out to the enemy.

"I thought we were friends," I whisper in as controlled a voice as I can muster.

My mind knows she's wasting my time, that I'm putting off the inevitable and yet my heart refuses to listen. I cling stubbornly to my dream as I see it slip away through my fingers like the sand of the desert which stripped me of my father and made a traitor of me, a traitor of someone who's always set such great store by loyalty; the same loyalty I'm now demanding of the woman I love to distraction.

And I relent in my eagerness for her to prove me wrong. I give her what she wants for I've never been able to deny her anything.

My feet climb the steps to her bedchamber like a man condemned to the scaffold, a prisoner who's not ready to face his executioner, for that's who I am and that's who she is. I've been her captive for three years and she's been my summer for four winters, wielding the power to make my world or destroy it with just one look, one word, one smile.

"The only reason you paid me any attention was to feed information to my enemy," I tell her, feeling the lump in my throat grow larger as I cross her threshold to find her frantically turning her room upside down, no doubt trying to make it look as if her once-betrothed has broken into and snatched away her valuables.

"That's not true," she shakes her head, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

"Why persist with lies?" I ask her, wondering if the mist in her beautiful blue eyes means she actually did sometime care for me or if it's just a mirage in the desert that's opening in front of my eyes. "You're dead anyway." _Just as I am._

And like a mortally wounded animal seeking its final deliverance, I insist she plunge her dagger in my heart one last time.

"Do you still not have the courage to tell me the truth?" I demand, taking a seat suddenly sapped of all energy.

"The truth? The truth is, this country is being choked to death. The truth is, honest people are being forced to lie and cheat and steal," she answers vehemently, her back to me, a chasm I refuse to acknowledge by keeping my face averted.

She's still faithful to her cause and, despite her betrayal to one who's also had to lie and cheat and steal in order to survive, I cannot help but keep loving her.

"And if you really want the truth, then you should know that I... "

"What?" I croak quietly.

And then she turns around, and the reply I get's nothing like the one I've been expecting. For there, in her hand, lies the silver necklace which has brought me to her doorstep, a desperate and broken man.

"It's not possible."

For the second time today I find it difficult to breathe. For the second time in a week innocent blood taints my hands. It doesn't matter she's still alive and breathing just a few inches away from my arms, her noose's being tightened as we speak since my Lord waits for her arrest and _ I_ am to blame. _I will in the future be faithful to the lord, never cause him harm and will observe my homage to him completely against all persons in good faith. _If only I had let my heart rule and come to her first...

"I'm sorry. I was wrong. Marian, I told the Sheriff that you betrayed us," I tell her in dismay.

There's never been any love lost between Vasey and the Lady of my dreams, and my resentful jailer's always begrudged Marian her hold on me. This time her defiance won't be punished with a pair of shears nor will a gift lovingly-picked by a lovesick knight put salve on the wound. Although disloyalty's a crime my Master's guilty of, it's a breach he's incapable of tolerating in others, least of all in one who's become too important to his Master-at-Arms. No miraculously found Celtic chain will appease his thirst for blood and revenge. No word in her favour coming through my lips will save her from a destiny which has already been sealed.

"You must prove your loyalty beyond all doubt."

"How?" she chokes, meeting my eyes with a look of pleading despair.

There's only one path open before us, one I've been hoping to walk with her in due time after winning her heart. My mind knows it's too soon, but I can't lose the one glimmer of light that is left in my life.

"Marry me," I blurt passionately, grabbing her arms with both hands, adding a silent plea to my offer to have her accept me and save two lives with one word. "It's the only way. As Lady Gisborne I could protect you. What do you say?"

Never before has time passed so slowly as this moment while I wait for her reply with quickened breath, assailed by my insecurities, wondering if Huntingdon still lives in her heart, if she'd hesitate were he the one to be asking the question.

And then her answer comes. "I will marry you... I will marry you the day King Richard returns to England." And I finally breathe.

* * *

**A/N:** The extract of poetry at the beginning belongs to "Always Faithful" by Jack Ivey.

The dialogue featuring in this piece was taken almost verbatim from "Brothers in Arms" (S01E07).

Coming next: "Y is for Yearning"


	6. Y is for Yearning

**TITLE:** "Y is for Yearning" (6th in the Guy/Marian Acrostic Series)

**FANDOM:** BBC Robin Hood 2006

**PAIRING:** Guy/ Marian

**AUTHOR: **lexie aka lillianschild

**RATING:** PG

**SUMMARY:** _I wait for the yearning... And pray for it to never end. I yearn to be... me._

**A/N: **This is the sixth one-shot in the series and spans from "Tattoo? What Tattoo?" (S01E08) to the beginning of "Peace Off!" (S01E10).

I highly recommend reading the previous ficlets in the series, starting with "S is for Scars".

**Y is for Yearning**

_I wait with open arms,  
open mind and spirit.  
_

_I wait for life,  
for the breath of heat  
that inflames my lungs, my heart.  
_

_I wait for the yearning...  
And pray for it  
to never end.  
I yearn to be...me._

It's been three weeks since she accepted my marriage proposal and a fortnight since I presented her with a ring to make our betrothal official. Binding her life with mine forever is the dream which has sustained me for four winters. And yet, now that she's pledged to accept my name as her own in front of God and Man, I feel the promise of her love start to slip through my fingers like the fickle sands which change shape with the trashing winds of the desert.

_I thought you were a better man. Now I realise I must content myself with disappointment._

I go about my daily duties with a heavy heart, knowing I have let her down once again, descended one step lower in her eyes by betraying the only real friend I've ever had at the altar of a man who represents everything my mother's son used to hate.

_Loyalties are sometimes divided. _Never before have I felt more of a traitor than I do now when everything my heart's ever wished for reveals itself as a hazy mirage which dissolves when my tainted hands try to reach for it. I'm but the stone whose weight ripples the cleansing waters in circles and drags it to the murky bottom where the light struggles to get through.

_I had to make a choice. You know that I'm all that stands between you and the Sheriff and I would not see you harmed.I have to protect you. Hm?Will you wear the ring again?_

_Of course. But we will never find ourselves in this situation again. Everything is back in its box._

I walk the corridors of my gloomy prison and yearn for her luminous presence, the beacon that can help me defeat the demons which lurk in the shadows of this convoluted labyrinth; a treacherous maze I don't know how to escape from on my own.

Like the siren whose song calls out to a lonely sailor at high sea, the sweet sound of her voice beckons to me as her soothing cooing reaches my ears from the bailey. Although my master's awaiting my return, plotting ways to use our unsuspecting Saracen guest to enrich his coffers, I cannot resist her call, hungry as I am for a sight of her even from a distance.

I approach a balcony overlooking the bailey where she's whispering sweet nothings in her white mount's ear as she caresses its neck and presses her cheek against the horse's with a smile.

"Not jealous of a horse, are we?" my cunning and spiteful troll of a master asks, appearing at my flank all of a sudden as he feeds the falcon perched on his hand, his eyes trained on Marian with clear disgust in their depths.

I hate the fact he can read me like an open book. And yet, despite the pain of rejection and the angst that robs me of sleep, I can't regret loving her for the hope she'll one day whisper sweet nothings in _my_ ear and graze _my_ skin with tender fingers is the dream which helps me breathe. No, I'm not ashamed of my love for her; it's the one pure thing in my life. I only wish I could control my eager heart from breaking its restraints and allowing my passion for her to be worn upon my sleeve since I know it can either shield her or doom her, depending on Vasey's capricious will.

"Marian and I have had a disagreement, that is all. I had hoped..."

"Hope. I would rather be dead than spend my life hoping. I hope for this. I hope for that. Buy her something. A trinket or two," suggests the Sheriff, a tone of boring exasperation colouring his voice.

"Marian is not the type to be bought," I sigh, recalling all the gifts she's turned down and thinking how ironic it is she accepted the only thing I hadn't chosen with care or paid for. It still hurts to know a present taken by force from its owner was the one which ended up having her promise her hand in marriage to me. I wonder if that's my destiny; to get everything my soul yearns for the way a thief gets his keep.

"Nonsense. All women can be bought. It's a nesting thing. They want to make sure their offspring are provided for. They're animals, really."

Vasey's never felt but contempt for the females of this world and his words reflect that feeling and more. He certainly takes delight in gnawing at me, aware as he must be of my yearning to raise a family and perpetuate the proud legacy of the Gisbornes with the only woman he's ever regarded as a threat to our treacherous alliance.

I've never felt more at home than around horses. We've always been able to communicate without words and rely on each other both in and outside the battlefield. Stormbringer's been my one true friend since my return from France, a projection of my dreams and everything Marian is and I wish I could be- strong, powerful and beautiful.

Our love for horses is what brings her and me together; it lends us the wings we lack, frees us of the shackles which imprison us and prevent us from being who we really are behind the masks the world's forced us to wear.

And so I come back to her doorstep bearing gifts once again, hoping this olive branch will be the bridge to bring us closer and put an end to this unbearable chasm between us.

I step out of Knighton Hall, leading my blindfolded betrothed to the front yard, my heart beating anxiously in my chest.

"Really. I do not like surprises."

"Well, you'll like this one," I state confidently. There's no doubt in my mind she'll appreciate the majestic animal standing proudly a few paces from us; it's the possibility of her turning down yet another token of my affection that fills me with apprehension.

"Oh, he's beautiful!" she exclaims as soon as I remove the blindfold and her eyes get used to the light. "But I cannot possibly accept him," she adds, reaching out to touch his glimmering mane and caress his soft muzzle.

"Why not?" I ask her, fearing what her answer will be, preparing for the sting of her words when she tells me she'll never be able to accept anything coming from my hands.

"The expense."

Her response unsettles me for a moment. "What expense? My fortune is secure, I can provide for you," I assure her, relieved it isn't my unworthiness but her unwillingness to be the cause of any unnecessary expenditure that feeds her qualms about accepting the destrier.

"Really?"

"That's what I've been trying to show you. Humour me. Just put him through his paces," I suggest, comforted by the thought she won't be able to resist either her admiration for the animal or the very idea of controlling a beast trained for the battlefield with her soothing touch and persuasive charm.

"OK," she agrees, her face breaking into a blinding smile which robs me of breath, and mounts the chestnut war horse confidently.

She won his trust the moment they met for the first time. Her scent filled his nostrils as he breathed in deep, seemly unperturbed by the gentle brush of her fingers against his neck. His warrior heart is but an echo of mine.

And they take to flight, hooves pounding; the mystical beast and his rider united in harmony are one at last.

**A/N:** The extract of poetry at the beginning belongs to "Yearning" by Cheryl Kaye Tardif.

The dialogue featuring in this piece was taken almost verbatim from "Tattoo? What Tattoo?" (S01E08) and "Peace Off!" (S01E10).

Coming next: "O is for Obedience"


End file.
